


still breathing

by WooziOveralls



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (maybe smut later on??? idk), Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, IM SORRY I MADE NAMJOON BE EVIL, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mutants, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rated For Violence, jihoon and chan are brothers, sort of??? i jus wanna be on the safer side, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WooziOveralls/pseuds/WooziOveralls
Summary: "you're still breathing?""uh, yeah. still breathing"jihoon doesn't mind isolating himself as long as his brother is safe, and he will go to the ends of the earth to make sure chan is okay. a tall awkward mutant may just be the help he needs.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this fic since 2018 so uh ,,,, yeah . it's been through two rewrites and it's gonna take me a bit to complete it because i changed a lot of things from my original draft but i will try to be consistent with my updates.
> 
> all thanks to juzi because really this was born out of one of many brainstorms we have done in the middle of the night

“Hyung, did you see my history textbook anywhere?”

“Yeah, I burned it while you were asleep.”

“Jihoon-hyung…” Chan whines, letting his body collapse on the rug where he had been crouched down, looking under their beds. “I hate the professor, but I still need to get an A in that class.” Jihoon turns around from where he had been looking into the fridge. His eyes fall upon Chan, sprawled out on the rug that sits between their beds, head tilted back against his mattress and lips pursed into a pout. His brother’s hair is sticking out in every possible direction and he is still wearing his pajamas.

“Chan, your class starts in, like, fifteen minutes,” Jihoon snickers, “you’re already late.”

“That’s why I’m looking for the book,” His brother whines again, kicking out his legs like a petulant toddler. “I was reading it last night, I know it didn’t just—like, grow legs and run away.”

Jihoon presses his lips in a tight line to try and contain the chuckle that threatens to bubble up and over. Chan may be the more organized out of the both of them, but he is still a mess. “Did you check under your covers?” He ends up suggesting. It wouldn’t be the first time his brother has fallen asleep reading. Jihoon knows his hutch is spot-on instantly when a furious blush colors Chan’s cheeks and he scrambles to get up and check. It takes him only a few seconds to resurface from the foot of the bed with a thick blue textbook in hands. “There you go,” Jihoon coos sarcastically.

“Fuck off,” Chan grumbles as he throws the book inside his backpack. He gets up to look for an outfit to wear. When he passes by Jihoon to get to the bathroom, he twists his body awkwardly in order not to touch any of his brother’s exposed skin. This has become almost instinct for him at this point.

“Love you, too,” Jihoon sneers.

When Chan comes out of the bathroom, he looks way too overdressed for a history lecture. He even has eyeliner on. _Holy shit_.

“Who are you trying to impress?” Jihoon asks, unimpressed. He has since moved over to his work desk with a big bowl of cereal in hands. One of the perks of working at home is the fact pants and gloves are not required and, when Chan is out, he doesn’t even have to worry about bumping into him.

His comment makes Chan’s cheeks adopt a soft pink color; he stutters out a weak, “No one, I just wanna look good.”

Jihoon snickers, shoving another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, “Sure, you put on makeup just to come home complaining about it melting after dance practice. Of course.”

“Okay, I’m leaving. Bye,” Chan huffs with a roll of his heavily lined eyes and turns around to stride in the direction of the door. Before he can open it, Jihoon speaks up again,

“Oh, by the way, we are out of milk. I poured out the last bit in my cereal and it didn’t even cover it up.”

With furrowed eyebrows, Chan turns around to face his brother, “My practice ends after eight, hyung.”

“Fuck, that’s right,” Jihoon chews on his bottom lip. The nearest supermarket will be closed by then. “Can’t you stop by before class?”

Chan pouts, bottom lip jutting out adorably (wait, is his brother wearing lip tint?), “Hyung, I’m already late to class.”

“Ah, right. Yeah…” Jihoon mumbles.

“Hyung, you can go buy the milk yourself,” Chan suggests softly. At the raised eyebrow he receives in response, he completes, “It’s pretty chilly outside. No one will bat an eyelash at you wearing gloves and long sleeves.”

A heavy sigh forces its way out of Jihoon’s lungs, “Yeah, I’ll go.”

A moment of heavy silence blankets the half-brothers, brought on by the uncomfortable and delicate subject. A whole minute ticks by before Chan breaks the silence with a quiet, “You shouldn’t be so scared of going out, hyung. Covering up your skin is enough to make going out safe, you know that. You’ve bumped into people while out before and it was completely fine.”

Jihoon feels the argument bubble up inside him: You don’t know what it’s like; my skin is never completely covered; I’m putting everyone in danger just by being in public, no matter how much I cover up. The same things he has repeated over and over not only to Chan but their entire family.

He isn’t in the mood for the same discussion they have every couple of weeks, though. Plus, Channie is already ridiculously late for class. He doesn’t want his brother to feel the wrath of Professor Bae. So, he swallows the argument and offers Dino a tight smile, “Doesn’t make me less scared, you know that.”

Chan nods understandingly. Jihoon knows he means no harm or offense with his suggestions. His brother just doesn’t know how it feels to be in Jihoon’s shoes. “It will be okay, hyung.”

“Yeah…”

“I’ll be back at nine,” Chan states, finally, like Jihoon doesn’t know his schedule by heart already. “See you later,” with a smile, Chan waves and turns around to leave.

Jihoon can’t help but mirror his brother’s smile, even if Chan can’t see him anymore, “See ya, twerp.”

Jihoon vividly remembers spending the better part of his childhood years shying away from any and all sort of physical contact. In his first couple of years (that he can remember, at least), Jihoon would be confused as to why he couldn’t go out and play with the other kids in the neighborhood. Why he couldn’t take up Wonwoo’s invitation to come over and play Super Mario Bros on his old Nintendo. Why he had to wear not only a face mask, but also gloves and long sleeves whenever he was out in public, no matter how hot or cold it was outside.

At first, his father would avoid the questions and would merely insist Jihoon kept on covering himself up in public and refusing to touch his hands unless they were gloved. Jihoon didn’t understand it but obeyed anyway since that is what kids are supposed to do, right?

The indifference does not last for long.

After Jihoon starts elementary school, his father pulls him aside and, harshly, almost angrily and so completely different from his previous behavior, explains that Jihoon is not like other kids. Jihoon was too young to understand everything but he understood enough to understand he was dangerous by nature.

This condition didn’t start at birth and, because of that, the doctors allowed his family to take him home. Near his second birthday, Jihoon’s mother was summoned to his bedroom by his cries, in the middle of the night. His father woke up the next morning to find his wife on the floor of their child’s bedroom. The paramedics had declared the cause of death a heart attack. They then tested Jihoon positive for the mutant gene. Jihoon’s mutation wouldn’t make itself present all the time, which explained why Jihoon’s father and the paramedics could hold onto him, but it would only get worse with time.

Of course, Jihoon didn’t understand the nuances of what had happened, but he did understand one thing: he was a danger to others and responsible for his mother’s death.

(He also understood it very well when his father said he only kept on raising Jihoon because he didn’t want to burden anyone else with the _monster_ he helped create).

So, all throughout elementary school, Jihoon covered himself up and segregated himself from his classmates (not by his teacher, no…Miss Jinah did her best to make him feel included even when her fear was apparent). The other kids flinched at the sound of his name, even if they didn’t know his touch could kill them. The mere thought of having a mutant in their class made them scared because their parents told them they should be scared.

Jihoon did make some friends, though. Kihyun, from one grade above his, would play baseball with him during recess and, occasionally, Kihyun’s friends would join in. Jihoon also still talked to his best friend, Wonwoo, who lived down the street, even if the boy’s mother had forbidden Jihoon from visiting until the day they moved out to another state when Jihoon was 10.

For years, Jihoon resented his father. No, hated him. Hated him or keeping him damn near locked up and hated him for remarrying a woman who was okay with that. Jihoon hated him for having another child and giving Chan the love he never gave Jihoon.

His little brother, of course, had no fault in any of this. The resentment he felt towards his father never let up, but none of his grievances, had anything to do with Channie.

With time, too, their father showed his true colors more often than not, slowly stripping away the mask he crafted so carefully when he remarried. It did not help that Chan always took Jihoon’s side, making his own life progressively worse.

Unsurprisingly, his attitudes drove his wife away and, at the end of it all, Jihoon and Chan only really had each other.

Home life peaked at its worst and Jihoon saw an opportunity to _leave_. His at-home programming job paid decent enough to rent a shitty apartment in the outskirts of Seoul so he packed his bags and left as soon as he could.

He hadn’t intended to drag his brother along but, before Jihoon knew it, Chan had packed his belongings as well and was trailing behind him on their way to the apartment building.

 _Father scares me, you know that_ , Chan had offered weakly when questioned.

Jihoon had pressed no further.

“Do you think it was father’s genes that gave you your power?” Chan had asked one quiet hot afternoon. The air conditioning didn’t work in their apartment and Jihoon was tired of asking the landlord to take a look at it. He suspected the entire building suffered from the same problem while the old man enjoyed his own cold apartment -- which Jihoon could feel whenever he knocked on the man’s door, he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Jihoon had looked up from his laptop screen. The movement made him realize just how bad his posture was and he straightened his back as he turned to look at his brother. The loud popping noise made him wince. “What do you mean?”

“Like…” Chan stopped to think, licking his chapped lips, “Do you think it’s a genetic thing?”

Jihoon had furrowed his eyebrows. He flexed his un-gloved fingers for a second and took a deep breath. He had wondered about that, yes, “I’m—I’m not exactly sure but I think it could be, I guess? Why do you ask?”

Chan just shook his head, staring up at the white ceiling, “Jus’ wondering.”

And that had been all.

Maybe it really had been just a random question that popped up in Chan’s mind, but Jihoon couldn’t shake that thought off for days.

Jihoon wakes up in what can only be described as one of those solitary cells one would normally see in a movie: padded white walls, floor, and ceiling; the door is also padded, but contains a small square cut into it, with a metal sliding door blocking his view of the outside.

He quickly tries to take not of his condition. He was just walking back home from the supermarket, the air was cold and he was the only person walking down the narrow street that leads to his building. He was wearing a leather jacket on top of his long sleeves, but he isn’t wearing it anymore. His face mask is also gone, along with his backpack and the bag from the market.

Where the _fuck_ is he?

For a brief moment, Jihoon wonders if he accidentally touched someone on the way home and wounded up in jail where he rightfully belongs, but that’s impossible. Even in mutant cases, the police couldn’t throw him in a padded cell without a trial, right? Plus, he doubts they would do all of that while he was unconscious.

But that brings the question: what happened, then?

Jihoon takes a deep breath and slowly gets on his feet. On shaky legs, he drags himself to the door and gingerly brings his hand up to try and open it. Locked.

Of course.

He heaves a heavy sigh and tries the metal sliding window. To his surprise, it opens.

There is nothing extraordinary on the outside when he carefully peers out, but Jihoon knows now he is definitely not in a prison. The walls are pristine white, and the linoleum floors reflect the equally bright white ceiling. Lined up on the other side of the corridor are about half a dozen colorless doors, all containing the same metal window.

Jihoon swallows, feels the dryness in his throat, and calls out in a soft voice, “Hello?”

His voice echoes between the walls, but there is no answer. He tries again, hearing the echo stretch in the long hallway to no avail. Jihoon feels his heart pound heavily in his ribcage, dread freezing his veins. Is he he the only one in this building?

Another minute goes by in eerie silence and his stomach gradually drops. After a few more seconds only hearing the blood rushing through his own veins, Jihoon turns his back to the empty hallway; he is closing the small window when a voice, muffled yet too loud in the empty space, speaks up, “Hello?”

He’s not alone.

Jihoon looks back out and is met with two unseeing eyes, framed by silver hair, peeking from the window immediately in front of his. He swallows thickly, waits for the person to say anything else.

“You’re the new mutant, right?” The person asks and Jihoon notices a heavy accent in their voice.

“I think so?” Jihoon answers in a whisper and the person’s face comes into full view. Jihoon notices a heavy-looking collar adorning their long neck and two silver scars branching from the corners of their eyes.

“I’m sorry…” They offer weakly and continues before Jihoon can ask what they’re sorry for, “My name is Xu Minghao, I can—I manipulate reality.” He pauses, offering a sympathetic smile before continuing, “What can you do?”

Jihoon exhales shakily. This guy can manipulate reality… that’s—that sounds like a nice power to have. He ignores the envy that bubbles up his chest and the question at hand to ask one of his own, “Where am I?”

Minghao is not the one to answer this time; a different, deep voice comes from the window to the left of Jihoon’s room, “Pledis Facility for Mutant Gene Research and Cure,” it says, reverberating in the hallway almost menacingly, “My name is Jeon Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo.

It’s probably a common name. Jihoon hasn’t been out enough to find that out. Nonetheless, it sparks a little hope in his chest, accompanied by dread. Funny, everything that happened so far has been trailed with a sense of deep dread, like tar filling his lungs.

Jihoon doesn’t get the chance to voice out any of his that because Wonwoo speaks up again before he can,

“Jihoon? Lee Jihoon?” Wonwoo asks out loud, startling Jihoon out of his thoughts. “Is that you?”

“I—” Jihoon breathes out after a beat. Did he tell these people his name?

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” Wonwoo sounds awed. “It’s me, we used to play together when we were kids.”

“Wonwoo can read minds,” Minghao explains helpfully, sensing Jihoon’s confusion. Jihoon breathes out slowly. He doesn’t know what to think. This could very well be a trick; he doesn’t know what Wonwoo’s voice sounds like anymore

“Yeah, sorry if I freaked you out a little,” Wonwoo apologizes softly, “It’s just—wow, I didn’t expect to see—well, no—hear someone I knew in here.” He pauses. Then, in an even softer, sadder voice, complements, “It’s been so long.”

Jihoon wants to ask about a dozen questions, at least: _What happened after Wonwoo moved? How did he end up in this facility? How_ long _has he been in here?_ Before he can get a word out, however, a loud noise echoes from the end of the corridor. Minghao’s unseeing eyes fill with terror and, in a split second, the blind boy closes his own window; the sound is echoed to Jihoon’s left, indicating Wonwoo has closed his window, too, just as a dark figure comes to a half in front of Jihoon’s door, face and body completely covered in black fabric.

Jihoon knows he should try to run, to hide, to do anything to get away but—he freezes.

This figure is not a person, he realizes belatedly. What looked like fabric at first shifts, gains a leathery texture before turning into straight-up goo.

A clicking sound echoes in Jihoon’s ears and the door flings open, nearly hitting Jihoon. A gooey hand reaches out to beckon him into following the figure wherever it is going. Jihoon doesn’t want to, but—is there really any other option here? He has no idea what the figure is capable of doing to him if he refuses to follow it…so, he swallows thickly and does as instructed, with Minghao’s terrified eyes imprinted in his brain and Wonwoo’s sadness-laced voice echoing in his ears.

Once in the hallway, he notices two other _things_ following him, much in the same way as the first one: menacing, gooey, dripping onto the linoleum floor. He is also able to observe more and more doors with each new hallway they enter: Four, eight, twelve, sixteen…he counts over 30 by the time they stop in front of an imposing black door and wonders if all of the rooms are inhabited; if each one has a person inside just like Jihoon, powerful yet lost, wonders if any of them has a power similar to his…

The figure at the front swings the black door open and the figures behind him shove Jihoon inside a monochromatic room before slamming the door shut once again. The room itself is not small but it is incredibly claustrophobic (but that might be due to the rapid beating of his heart, the sweat beading at his forehead and the overall anxiety simmering inside his gut). The walls are entirely black, and so is the shimmering floor. There are no windows anywhere, and the few pieces of furniture are white, standing in contrast with the walls. There is a big desk in the farthest wall, with one comfortable-looking chair on each side, cabinets lining the left side of the room, and a small loveseat couch on the right.

The entire room makes Jihoon feel off, and he desperately wants to turn around and run for his life but—there is nowhere to run. He doesn’t doubt the monsters are still outside, waiting for him to do just that. So, Jihoon stands still, stiff and uncomfortable by the door.

It isn’t too long until another black door, one Jihoon hadn’t notices on the other side of the room, opens to reveal a tall man in a suit. He is, surprisingly enough, not wearing all black and white; instead, the man wears a beige pinstripe suit on top of a red shirt. His hair is shiny black and swooped elegantly to the side, exposing a short forehead and angled eyes, complemented by a dimpled smile adorning his full lips.

“Lee Jihoon, I assume,” He says, voice deep and soothing; it only unsettles Jihoon even further. He nods and the man continues, smile widening the slightest bit, “My name is Kim Namjoon and I am the head of this facility.” He takes a seat behind the desk and gestures to the chair in front of him, “Please sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”

Jihoon hesitates but complies, sitting down gingerly on the chair facing the dimpled man. Namjoon leans forward onto the table and Jihoon Jihoon can’t help but lean back instinctively; the director notices the action and smiles lightly, “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Jihoon is not convinced.

“I’m not.”

He is.

Namjoon nods. “So, do you know what this place is?” He asks, simply.

Jihoon is ready to shake his head, but something in the back of his mind tells him that he shouldn’t. “This—it’s a facility for mutants, right?” It ends up coming out as a question, but Namjoon’s smile doesn’t falter.

“Correct. Do you know _why_ you’re here?”

Jihoon nods, brows furrowed, “I am also a mutant.”

Namjoon hums and stares deeply into Jihoon’s eyes, smile slowly slipping from his lips, “Do you know how you got to this place?”

Jihoon opens and closes his mouth. He only shakes his head in response. He really doesn’t know what happened in the short walk between the grocery store and his apartment. It wasn’t like he suddenly blacked out or anything but—everything gets fuzzy after leaving the store. It’s like trying to remember a dream.

A weird expression passes through Kim Namjoon’s face, something that makes him seem almost pleased with the answer, or lack of thereof, as he leans back in the white chair. A small frown taking over whatever it was. “We found you blacked out on the street near Kyungsang College—that’s where you study, correct?”

Jihoon shakes his head, feeling just how tense his entire body is. “That’s—it’s my brother’s school, not mine. I graduated a year ago.”

Namjoon raises one eyebrow, probably surprised at the sudden disclosure of new information coming from Jihoon’s mouth. “Right. Well, we found you unconscious near another person, who was dead.” Jihoon’s blood runs cold at the word. Dead.

He killed someone.

He—

“I can’t recall what I read in the boy’s ID, though…” Namjoon thinks aloud, interrupting Jihoon’s own inner turbulent thoughts, “Something Chan? I remember I was confused because people with only one name are pretty hard to come by.” He adds with a chuckle, but all Jihoon can hear is the blood rushing inside his head.

Chan.

Did Jihoon---

No.

“Lee Chan?” He asks, voice small and choked up. Namjoon slaps one hand on the desk and his face stretches into a smile, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. “That’s it! Lee Chan!”

Jihoon’ stomach churns.

He’s going to be sick.

This is his worst nightmare coming to life.

“Was he someone you knew?” Namjoon asks, voice deep and low. Jihoon only nods curtly at once, unable to find his voice for a few seconds.

“He’s—Lee Chan is my brother, I—" He chokes out. His chest threatens to give into the black hole suddenly taking over the place his heart used to be, or at least that’s how it feels like. He gasps in shallow intakes of air, tears threatening to spill. Had he really killed his little brother?

“Hmm,” Namjoon hums, leaning over the slightest bit over the desk, “I’m truly sorry for your loss.” His tone is low, gentle, sounding truly genuine, but it reverts back to his sickeningly sweet tone in the next few words, “I assume you already know what happened to him, correct?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Jihoon rushes out in a single quick exhale, almost inaudible. “I don’t want to say it.”

“You killed him, Lee Jihoon.” Namjoon states simply and the words feel like a thousand sharp icicles forming underneath his skin. He feels sick to his stomach and he doesn’t deserve to cry but the tears just won’t stop now that they have started falling. “That makes you dangerous, doesn’t it?” He places his elbows on the table, leaning forward to stare at Jihoon while the other mutant has his head hanging low, “Don’t worry about that, though, because that is what we seek to cute at PLEDIS. We have already found the cure to a number of _special_ _abilities_ in here.” Jihoon hears the smile in the man’s voice, sweet and dangerous. “Of course, we can’t force anyone in here to do anything and, if you want, you could just walk out and go back to your life.”

“I’ll do it,” Jihoon says softly, suddenly lifting his head to stare into the older man’s eyes. prompting Namjoon into going quiet. Jihoon’s eyes are puffy and incredibly sad and his lashes are wet, “Please, I—please, make me normal.” His voice is shaking, but he says it with conviction, and that seems to be enough for Namjoon.

Namjoon grins, dimples fully on display, and it makes Jihoon want to empty his already empty stomach, “Perfect. Please, follow me, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Joshua, where the fuck are you? Your boyfriend is getting his ass kicked!” Jeonghan’s sweet voice echoes in the long hallway that stretches from the small house’s living room, followed by cheers, sneers and some undignified protests.

“I’m _not_ getting my ass kicked, love!” Seungcheol’s voice follows, slightly strained.

“He does, however, really wants those snacks you’re taking forever to get, hyung,” Seungkwan adds, just as loud as Seokmin’s triumphant scream at—something, Joshua is sure.

Joshua rolls his eyes and places a pile of paper cups onto Vernon’s already full arms. “Hyung,” The younger mutant whines, “I know I’m strong, but my arms don’t stretch out, can’t you carry some of these chips?”

“Sure,” Joshua hums, looking through their snack cabinet to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Once determined that yes, they will regret eating all of their snacks the very next day, Joshua turns and grabs a few of the chip bags dangling dangerously from Vernon’s arms. Vernon takes advantage of his newly freed hand and also grabs the big bottle of Coke still sitting on their counter. “Now, let’s take these salty bitches to our salty boyfriends.”

Vernon’s cheeks flush a deep crimson red at the suggestion, “I’m—Seungkwan isn’t my boyfriend.”

Joshua snorts and sets off to the living room, “I never mentioned any names, Nonie.”

From the hallway, Joshua can see Seungcheol’s and Jeonghan’s side profiles, both with fiery eyes gazing into their television screen and furiously pressing buttons on their too-small remotes. Seungcheol has a deep furrow in his brow and Joshua immediately knows he is, indeed, getting his ass handed to him at Mario Kart by a guy who only really learned how to play less than a week ago.

This ought to be fun.

They haven’t had the time to just goof around too much lately. Now, a couple of weeks after recruiting a brand new mutant in their group, the other snack-carrier trailing closely behind Joshua, seems like the perfect time to have a gaming marathon, so Vernon can see just how screwed he truly is.

“Hyung--?” Vernon asks from behind and Joshua realizes he has stopped walking down the hallway. “What happened, Josh?” The younger mutant asks in English, but Joshua doesn’t register the question.

His knees hit the floor with a heavy _thud_ before he knows it.

Faintly, he hears their food scattering all over the cold linoleum floor and has a split second to mourn his chips before entering into a shock-still state. His hands clench tightly, nails digging painfully into his palms, and his eyes glaze over, adopting a milky white color.

The sound alerts the other mutants, and Seungcheol rushes to Joshua’s side immediately, prying his boyfriend’s hands open to hold them in his own. The others gather at the open end of the hallway, videogame forgotten, now.

Everything is still and quiet for a long minute as Joshua’s lips move, forming unintelligible words. Suddenly, he shudders full-bodied and collapses against Seungcheol, eyes back into focus and chest rising rapidly as he struggles to regain control of his body. Seungcheol pries his hands away from Joshua’s to rub at his shoulders and back.

Off to the side, Vernon is still standing, arms full of food and eyes wide at the scene. “I—” He stutters, “What happened?” He sounds scared, terrified even, and Joshua feels a pang of guilt at the prospect of having scared their newcomer.

“Hyung had a vision,” That’s Junhui talking. He moves around the pair on the floor to help Vernon with the things in his arms, removing and placing them back into their small kitchen. Snacks don’t seem all that appealing anymore.

There is only still-silence for a couple more minutes before Joshua speaks up, voice surprisingly steady, “I saw a teleporting mutant,” He breathes out, “His powers are different from Soonyoung’s, I think.” A pause, Joshua gnaws at his bottom lip, “He escaped being captured by hunters and is lost _somewhere_. He seemed – he seemed really scared.”

“Didn’t know about his own powers, maybe?” Soonyoung suggests, quietly, “I was also very confused when I fell into a hole in the street and ended up home, y’know?”

Joshua nods, resting his forehead against Seungcheol’s shoulder again, muffling his next words, “Could be.” He feels exhausted all of a sudden. He fucking hates mid-day visions.

“Did you see anything else, love?” Seungcheol asks quietly only to receive a negative answer, so quiet against his shoulder he is sure no one else heard it, “Okay, let’s take you to our room so you can rest.”

“I can carry him, if you need help,” Vernon offers quietly and Seungcheol looks up at the boy, surprised. Right, they have a super-strong dude now.

“Sure, that would be good. If Joshua agrees, of course.” Joshua nods against Seungcheol’s shoulder and Vernon moves to carry his hyung into his bedroom, followed by their leader.

After they are out of sight, Jeonghan crosses his arms and exhales slowly, muttering “I always forget how intense his visions can get.” A few of the other boys nod in agreement and silence falls upon the house again.

“I’m gonna see what we have of actual food,” Mingyu perks up from behind everyone, speaking for the first time since they started their game night. He makes his way between the others, ignoring the small flinches when his bare arms come in contact with the others, and into the kitchen, “Hyung will need to eat once he wakes up.”

“Isn’t it weird that Joshua hyung didn’t have any leads on this boy?” Seungkwan asks out of the blue. Mingyu makes his way back out of the kitchen doorway out of curiosity.

“What do you mean?” He asks, brow furrowed.

“I—it’s just weird that hyung has no clue where this mutant might be,” He gnaws at his lip, looking worried, “He usually has a vague idea of a location, doesn’t he?”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows furrow, too, and he nods, looking perplexed, “You’re right, “ He mumbles. “Mingyu, can you ask Seungcheol to make sure Joshua has no location at all when you take food in there? We just need to be sure there are no leads at all before we get our panties up in a twist.”

Mingyu nods, taking notice of everyone’s confused expressions, “Yeah, sure.”

* * *

Pain.

Excruciating pain is all Jihoon can feel and think about. It clouds every single one of his senses, making every nerve come alive with it and his brain feels like it will shut down at any second from the sensory overload.

 _This is it; this is how I die_. He thinks bitterly, but death never comes. It feels like he spends hours lying in pain on this cold metal table under blinding lights and sharp gazes belonging to the doctors he has been told to trust with his life.

 _He will taste his own poison before we do any other tests_ , Jihoon recalls hearing one of the men say, and subconsciously wonders if this is what people really feel when they touch his skin. If this is what his mom felt. What Channie felt.

He tries to move, to say anything, but it feels impossible to even breathe when every centimeter of his body is in searing pain. He wants this to end, needs it to end. _Just please let me die_ , he pleads to whatever power is up above and then – nothing. Everything becomes still, calm, and silent save for the rushing blood in his ears, or at least he thinks it’s his own blood pumping in his veins, he can’t really feel anything anymore.

_Am I dead?_

“ _No_ ,” A voice answers inside his mind and an involuntary startled scream rips out of Jihoon’s throat as his eyes shoot open, being met with nothing but the white padded ceiling of his room. There is no one else there. “ _Oh, shit. Sorry, my bad_.” The voice continues in a hurry, sounding slightly panicked. “ _It’s Wonwoo speaking, I’m next door from you_.” What… “ _Yeah, mind reading comes with this feature too, I guess_.” Somehow, Jihoon can hear the guy laugh humorlessly inside his own head and it freaks him out.

Jihoon is not quite sure what do to. His body aches too much to try and sit up so he just…stays still and thinks, “What is going on?”

Wonwoo hums, “ _Well, I don’t know what they did to you, but three masked men carried you inside the room a while ago and left. I’m guessing they did their first experiments on you_.” He pauses, giving Jihoon a chance to process the information, “ _You were unconscious. I tried to communicate with you a couple of times_.”

Oh.

Jihoon takes in one deep breath, wincing as it awakes all sorts of different phantom pains in his body. His head is throbbing a little and his muscles feel weak; his stomach is so empty it almost feels like it is devouring itself. He doesn’t think he can speak, so he resorts to thinking back at Wonwoo, “How long have I been unconscious for?”

A small pause. Then, “ _A little over twelve hours, give or take_.”

Oh. No wonder he’s so fucking hungry.

Wonwoo continues when Jihoon doesn’t respond, “ _Minghao heard the men bring you in just before dinner, and It’s almost morning, so…_ ” He trails off. Jihoon just lets himself breathe for a few seconds, taking everything in.

He knows he signed up to be cured, but no one told him it would be like this.

These people kidnapped him and proposed to tweak his body into that of a regular human’s. It sounded way too good to be true and, now that Jihoon thinks back to it, it probably was. He is probably nothing more than another lab rat for these people and he’s _scared_ , he’s so fucking scared.

An involuntary sob rips through Jihoon’s throat and he is full on crying before he can even process it. He rolls onto his side, mindful of the pain he feels, and lets himself cry like he has never cried before.

He has just lost the most important person in his life and he hasn’t even had the time to mourn because he’s been thrown into a facility to be probed and poked and tortured. He doesn’t believe he has the full right to mourn his little brother, if he really was the one to kill Chan, but that doesn’t change anything. There is nothing he would like more than the comfort of his own bed, hidden away from all human contact and safely speaking about music production with his little brother.

Jihoon wants Channie back. He wants his mother back. He wants his life back. It hasn’t even been a full day and he feels like dragging himself into the corner and curling up there for the rest of his life. Until he withers and dies.

“ _I know how you feel_ ,” Wonwoo says softly inside his head and Jihoon isn’t startled this time around. He forces himself to slow his loud breathing and sobbing down as if that would make him hear Wonwoo better, “ _I wish I could help you, but I can’t offer anything other than my company and advice right now._ ”

“ _That’s—It’s okay_ ,” Jihoon reassures, softly, “ _I – That’s more than enough, really._ ” He lets out a hiccup, fisting the fabric of the loose clothes he has been given, “ _Thank you, Wonwoo_.”

Jihoon doesn’t know what Wonwoo looks like now, or if this guy really is the Jeon Wonwoo he used to know as a kid, but he can almost picture a grown-up version of his childhood friend nodding when Wonwoo bids a goodbye with, “ _I’m here for anything you need, alright?”_

And then there’s silence.

Jihoon manages to drift into a fitful sleep after curling up into one corner of the cell, pillowing his head with one arm and trying his hardest not to think of the earlier events. Somehow, that makes his mind drift to Minghao’s milky eyes, unseeing but still focused somehow, as if he was still able to see Jihoon from the other side of the hallway. He wonders briefly how the man is able to bend reality if he can’t see and if the condition was a consequence of whatever tests these people have done to him. Jihoon drifts into a fitful sleep before his mind can dwell too much on the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i should apologize for all im putting jihoon through aaaaaaaaaa
> 
> you can find me at woozioveralls on twitter!

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at woozioveralls on twitter! any and all suggestions are Accepted and i hope you enjoy this journey with me!!
> 
> (i promise mingyu will show up soon)


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